


somewhere to belong

by Inkblot0Blue



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Post-Canon, Post-War, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29104716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot0Blue/pseuds/Inkblot0Blue
Summary: “I love you,” Byleth whispers, pressing her lips to his matted brow. To the bridge of his nose. His forehead. “And you know I cannot be there for you all the time…”Dimitri swallows, and tries to ignore the lump forming in his throat.“So I don’t want to lose you,” — she presses another kiss, hands stroking the sides of his face where the stubble has started to form —“Not when I’ve only just got you back.”Dimitri gets ambushed by some bandits, and Byleth heals him with lots of kisses.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 87





	somewhere to belong

**Author's Note:**

> I am a big sap for Dimileth. And a thank you to my friends for proofreading!

Despite her new position as archbishop, Byleth’s private quarters remain just the same. Wholly unchanged from their academy days; the same four stone walls and simple dark wooden furniture. The only additions being the — temporary, she tells Dimitri when he’s ushered in — tinctures and bottles of herbal remedies lining the windowsill. 

“They’re Manuela’s,” she explains, as he sinks down on the mattress, adding a few drops of this one and that one into a wash basin, swirling them around in the warm water. 

Dimitri nods; bows his head as he carefully sets his armour at the foot of the bed. Much as he enjoys Manuela’s banter; the way she would fuss over him, skirts swishing furiously as she would tease and tend to him and the rest of their injured battalion...

There’s something to be said for the calm, methodical way Byleth — _Byleth_ , he reminds himself with awe, not _Professor_ _—_ conducts herself. He watches her move wordlessly, each step calculated as she sets the basin and a cloth on the tea table, and pulls up her desk chair to sit opposite him. 

“If you could undo your shirt,” she says, and Dimitri has to let slip a schoolboy grin at that. 

He obeys, draping it over the bedpost. Immediately Byleth sets about checking him over for any more wounds than the one on his face. 

“I’d also like to check your eye afterwards,” she says quietly. Her hands, soft and warm, touch his bare chest, his arms— _clasp_ his hands. “Just to be sure no damage has come to it…”

Dimitri inhales sharply, and their gazes meet. “Of course,” he replies, and without thinking, he brings her hand to his lips; kisses the knuckles.

“Once again, I am saved by your hands,” he says, and Byleth breathes softly, pulling away from his touch. 

She wrings out the cloth, and starts to dab at the dried blood.

“I still don’t understand why you got yourself in that situation,” she says, resuming their earlier conversation; the attempted ambush in Galatea territory, still poor and barren, and rife with bandits. “You could’ve let Ingrid, Judith, or the knights handle it. You know they’re all more than capable of managing...”

“I know.” It’s true; Dimitri does know that. He also knows it will take a while for things to calm down, for peace and prosperity to return to Fódlan. “But…”

“But?” she prompts.

“But...”— and Dimitri’s gaze softens at this — “I wanted to see my wife.”

Byleth says nothing, though the slight redness that colours her cheeks indicates otherwise. For him, this is an homage to all the tea times she’s made him blush, when he would pass it off as either the cold or the heat colouring his cheeks, and she would laugh harder behind her cup.

She moves to tend to a cut on his forearm, brow furrowed. “I would’ve come to you then. To Fhirdiad.”

Dimitri sits up at this. “Your duty to the monastery, however—”

“My duty can take a break for a couple of days. Seteth knows how to take care of things in my stead.”

“Yes, but Fhirdiad is,” — not the same as Garreg Mach, Dimitri wants to say; it’s home but it’s not home without _her_ _—_ “Fhirdiad is unfinished.”

“The monastery is also nowhere near complete,” Byleth counters, gesturing above their heads to the sounds of Felix and Sylvain bickering in the courtyard; something about moving rubble. They smile between them. Clearly some things never change. 

“But life goes on,” she murmurs to herself, and finally drops the cloth — turned copper with his blood — in the basin. “Now, sit still.”

Dimitri doesn’t need to be told twice as Byleth works her magic on him, the light from her fingertips bathing the room in the soft yellow of a warm summer’s day. The wounds on his arms and face start to close up, leaving just raised pink scars against his pale skin. 

“There, that should do for now,” she says, and brings his hand to her own lips; kisses the fingertips.

Dimitri looks away; feels a hot flush creep up his cheeks.“Thank you.”

“Not at all.” 

Byleth lets go, and Dimitri watches as she cleans up; his hands moving to the back of head, to untie. She quietly moves the basin and cloth back to the windowsill. There, she washes away any last traces of blood, and hangs the cloth to dry on the window handle. The basin she leaves dirty; presumably for Manuela to retrieve later, along with her medicinal remedies. 

Then she turns back to him; sees the black slip of cloth on his lap. Dimitri’s ‘good’ eye follows her, as she returns to her seat. He watches her face for any signs; there’s no mirror here, yet he knows. He knows that it is ugly, is malformed, and not something she should see.

But Byleth’s touch remains gentle. “We could restore your sight, if you wish… I’m sure Linhardt might think of something, if he’d put his mind to it.”

“It’s quite alright,” Dimitri reassures; looks away from her. “As I’ve said before; it does not interfere with fighting, and—”

Byleth bumps her forehead against his. 

“I love you,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his matted brow. To the bridge of his nose. His forehead. “And you know I cannot be there for you all the time…”

Dimitri swallows, and tries to ignore the lump forming in his throat as he brings his hands to her arms. 

“So I don’t want to lose you,” — Byleth presses another kiss, hands stroking the sides of his face where the stubble has just started to form — “Not when I’ve only just got you back.” 

“...Nor I,” Dimitri breathes, his arms coming down to her small waist, squeezing her tight. 

“Nor I,” he repeats, a little shakier, now capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. Byleth kisses back, a little push to his pull; she tastes of albinean berries and sweet honeyed fruit. Her hands move down his face. His jaw. His neck. Perhaps, Dimitri thinks, to commit him to memory, to never, _ever_ lose him—

A knock sounds on the door; they jolt apart. 

“...Your Highnesses?” 

They breathe easy. It’s only Ashe; apprehension hanging off the end of his words. Still, even now, he clings to their formal titles. 

“Yes?” Byleth calls out. 

“Ah, Dedue says dinner’s ready! That’s all!” 

“We’ll be right out,” she says; listens out for receding footsteps as he goes to tell Felix and Sylvain. 

Then Byleth rises; plucks his shirt from the bedpost, helping him into it. “We’ll discuss this after dinner,” she says, smoothing down any wrinkles.

They share another kiss; with Dimitri smiling against her lips. “Of course...my _beloved_.”


End file.
